


Marks of Ownership

by helens78



Category: Durham County, due South
Genre: Collars, Crossover Pairing, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-30
Updated: 2010-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike has a morning routine with Fraser, and another one with Kowalski; it's all nice, simple stuff, but it lets him know who he belongs to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marks of Ownership

Mike doesn't need any help with his ties. He's been wearing a tie to work for years; he could tie one blindfolded.

Still, it's morning, and they'll need to leave for the 27th soon. He knocks lightly on Fraser's office door and waits outside, hands at his sides, tie wrapped around his right hand.

Fraser opens the door after a moment; he's mostly into the serge, everything but the lanyard and the boots. He smiles when he sees Mike. "Come in."

Mike steps inside, and Fraser finishes with his lanyard, leaving it loose against his chest instead of clipping it to the end of his pistol the way he'd be able to do if this were Canada. Mike's sorry sometimes that he didn't meet Fraser above the border; he bets Fraser looks damned good with a gun in his hands. He'll see it someday; he'll drag Fraser across the 49th parallel and he'll have a gun ready, something Fraser can hold and sight and Mike can--he never gets past the idea of Fraser holding the gun, because he knows, he knows he wants to kneel down at Fraser's feet and open his mouth wide and feel the barrel in his mouth, and he knows Fraser would never, _will_ never. It wouldn't be safe; it wouldn't be right; he'd worry Mike has a death wish. Like he can talk.

"Mine first," Fraser says softly, and Mike exhales, rucks up his pants legs at the knees, and sinks down to the floor at Fraser's feet. He helps guide Fraser's right foot into his boot, and then carefully tightens the laces just the way Fraser likes them. Fraser nods, and Mike does the other one, rubbing his hands down all that polished, well-cared-for leather.

Sometimes he thinks he could get off just by rubbing up against the High Browns, but there's another thing Fraser's never going to let him do. But it's done, now, and Fraser nods at him and offers a hand so Mike can come up off his knees.

"Now yours," Fraser says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slender beaded necklace. Mike's not sure, but he thinks Fraser might have made it with his own two hands; he hasn't asked, because God, it gets him hard enough as it is. The necklace goes around Mike's neck, clasp twisted firmly into place, and then Fraser buttons up that last button on Mike's shirt, flips his collar up, and holds his hand out for the tie.

Mike uncoils it into Fraser's hand, and Fraser wraps the tie around Mike's neck. For a split-second, his hands are tight on both ends of the tie, and he could pull Mike forward, kiss him, probably even make him beg--but he doesn't. He just quickly makes a half-Windsor knot and tightens it into place, and his eyes narrow and darken when he does it. Mike takes a deep breath; if the necklace makes him feel collared, the tie always makes him feel _owned_.

Fraser smooths Mike's collar back down and then adjusts the lapels on his suit jacket. Mike holds still for the inspection; eventually, Fraser nods and gives his approval.

"All right. Shall we?"

"Yeah," Mike breathes. "Ready."

Fraser leads him downstairs, and by the time they get out to the front door, Kowalski's waiting for them. Fraser and Diefenbaker hop into the back seat; Mike takes his usual seat up front. Kowalski grins over at him.

"Wrists," he says. Mike takes his cufflinks out of his pocket and hands them over, and Kowalski reaches into his jacket pocket for the small length of beaded ball-chain that matches his own. Mike offers up his right wrist, and Kowalski takes it in his hand, rubbing against the inside of it with the pad of his thumb for a few seconds before carefully double-wrapping that ball chain around it and linking the ends. He takes one of Mike's cufflinks and deftly slips it through the holes, adjusting the back so it won't fall out, and then Mike offers his left wrist, which gets cuffed the same way. When Kowalski's done, he takes both of Mike's wrists in his hands and squeezes them. Mike closes his eyes and moans; if they told him to, if one of them just said the words _Come right now, Mike_ , he'd do it, right here in the front seat of Kowalski's car.

Instead, Kowalski lets him go, and Fraser says, "Seat belt," very softly, and Mike trembles as he belts himself in.

"My place tonight?" Kowalski asks.

"Yes," Fraser agrees. "Mike?"

"God, yes. _Please._ "

"You don't get to come until then," Kowalski tells him. "No sneaking off to the men's or anything."

"Okay, now that's just fucking disgusting," Mike says, finally pulling himself out of subspace and shaking his head. "What am I, sixteen? I can wait."

Kowalski laughs. "Yeah," he says softly. "And it'll be worth it."

 _-end-_


End file.
